


The Taste of Red

by Grinner_H



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H





	The Taste of Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ominous_Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ominous_Rain/gifts).



_"You don't really **want** this, do you?"_

You hate the way he makes you say it, hate the way he stares at you like he's got you all figured out; like he _knows_ you're looking at him and not seeing _him_ at all, 'cause he's doing _exactly_ the same thing.

You hate the way he turns his head, hiding behind that insufferable curtain of hair like it's a goddamn fortress - so heavy like your conscience and _whitewhitewhite._

You want bright green eyes and coffee-flavored lips, but all you've got are gunmetal-gray and the taste of red. 

You _hate_ the way he makes you ask questions you already have answers to, but you kiss him anyway, try to ignore the bitter taste of tobacco and regret on your tongue.

\--

Later, you find him sitting naked on the windowsill, smoking the wrong cigarettes and bathed in pale moonlight.

You hate the way his hair falls past his shoulders - tips bare inches above the timber floor. You hate his too-thin skin over his too-sharp collarbone, and the hand which isn't there. 

You know that _he_ knows you're awake and watching him. You hate how - despite that knowledge - he won't turn to look at you.

 _"Why?"_ you grind out, fist in your blankets and too much tightness in your chest. "Why do you let me fuck you? It's not out of _pity,_ is it?"

And you hate him with uncontainable wrath when he looks at you like sadness is all he's ever known. 

"You _know_ it's not," he says softly, crying without tears and screaming in silence; and you hear all the things he's not saying anyway. 

_Because I'm lonely too._

\--

"Does it hurt?" Gokudera asks one day, around the mouth of a champagne flute, like it's something that's just occurred to his over-analytical mind.

You hate how well you know him, how he doesn't seem to understand you at all.

You hate the plastic smile which so naturally emblazons itself across your face, feigned nonchalance and too-easy lies. You take a sip of champagne too, an intentional mimicry of his actions. "What?"

Gokudera places his glass down hurriedly - almost as if he's striving to be at odds with you. He leans back in his chair, fingers folding gracefully over the third button of his crimson shirt. "Being so close to someone, and knowing he doesn't love you."

You laugh, hoping it doesn't sound as bitter and deranged as you feel. "He's just really bad at expressing himself - "

Gokudera frowns, shoots you this _don't even_ look, and you utterly _hate_ how that sobers you into telling the truth. 

"Of _course_ it hurts," you state simply, hand running through your hair over and over, smoothing out non-existent knots. "But I don't know how to make him love me."

You take another sip of champagne, silently praying that Gokudera doesn't realize you aren't talking about Squalo at all.

\--

And you see them one day, through the cracked-open door of Xanxus's office. 

Xanxus has got his hand in Squalo's hair - you aren't sure if the gesture's meant to be reassuring or patronizing, and you don't know why you're pleased when Squalo hits that large hand away.

 _"Don't,"_ he says, and gods _above,_ you hate hate _hate_ that brokenness in his voice. "Why do you _do_ that when you don't even _care?_ "

And you fucking _**hate**_ how effortlessly Xanxus narrows the space between them; fluid like blood from veins, like breath from lungs. "What makes you think I _don't?_ "

You turn and walk swiftly away, wondering if this is how Orpheus felt.

\--

And it's easy, so goddamn _easy_ to shove Gokudera against the wall, teeth on skin and hands all over. 

But it's the hardest thing to pry yourself from him, when all you want is to weave yourself into his flesh; to search wild green eyes for veracity, and breathe the very question you fear the answer to.

_"You don't really **want** this, do you?"_

Gokudera's eyes blaze something fierce, the sharp point of his chin raising defiantly. "If I didn't, I wouldn't _be_ here, would I?"

And you hate how you're almost afraid to kiss him, 'cause if you do, you're never gonna stop.


End file.
